Operation: 'Phantom Menace'
by GandFindsman
Summary: When I was his age, I did strange things too..." L, age 20, plans an elaborate operation to see his favorite childhood movie series at a cinema in Chicago without supervision.


My plan is perfect.

For the past week, Watari and I have been staying at the Drake Hotel in Chicago under the guise of Alexander and Allesandro Mars, an affluent Italian shipping magnate and his son, while I work on a drug abuse investigation for the Tribune Company, owners of the Chicago Cubs. Usually something as simple as this would be better left to the local police agencies, but several years back Tribune allowed me to use their nationwide television stations to help draw out the suspect in the U.S. Murder Madame Case, so I suppose it's simply a matter of settling my debts. That and I wanted to be in the United States at just this time, so it all works out in the end.

In actuality, I solved the case three days ago, but I've tried to drag out the process until today, May 19th, to put my plan in to operation. At this very moment, I sent Watari off on an errand that should keep him busy until late this afternoon, gathering for me a few hard to find sweets. It's nothing so bizarre that it should raise his suspicions, but they're not so common place that he'll be able to find them down at the corner market. Despite this, however, I have taken other precautions as well, using some of the equipment we brought with us to aid in the Cubs' investigation. With motion sensors attached to the door to my private bedroom within our suite, if anyone is to approach, it will remotely activate my laptop and its voice recognition software. In the case of anyone aside from Watari approaching the door and trying to enter, it will remain silent, but if my elder caretaker does approach and wishes to speak with me, an appropriate response from a catalogue of several hundred recordings will be played after his statement or question is analyzed by the computer. I've anticipated everything Watari could conceivably say, so I see no way he could confound the software.

Making the last few checks to my equipment to make sure everything is fully operational, I make my way over to bed to finish my preparations. Laid out in advance, one of Watari's spare leather trench coats sits waiting, a package of marzipan, a large rainbow lolly, and a small plastic bag of double chocolate chip cookies hidden within. It's been a good many years since I've been to the cinema, but I do know they have a strict policy against bringing in outside food. Yes, it's…bending the rules a bit, but you can't buy these sorts of treats at their concession stands. I'm sure they'll understand. Sitting down gently on the bed, I reach to the floor and retrieve the brand-new pair of tennis shoes Watari bought me for the trip. I really hate these things but no doubt the theater has one of those annoying 'no shoes, no service' policies as well, so if I want to make my show, I'm afraid I'll have to put up with cramped toes. Quickly tying the shoes, though leaving them rather loose, I slip on the trench coat, grab my umbrella and make my way to the open window on the far side of the bedroom. To make it out of the room without disabling my equipment attached to the door, I'll have to walk the ledge between my room and the sitting room, where I have already left the window unlocked.

Before climbing up onto the ledge, I stick my hand into the pocket and pull out the small slip of paper within and study it carefully. An advanced ticket for the noon showing of _Star Wars: Episode One- The Phantom Menace_ on May 19, 1999. Assured that the key piece to my mission is in place, I climb onto the rain-soaked ledge and close the window behind me. The smooth stone path is slightly slippery, but I move with precise steps, keeping my weight evenly placed on my feet to proceed safely. After my tenth step, I finally arrive at the sitting room window, push it open gently and hop through. Thankfully, no one is about so the coast is clear. I make my way out the doorway of the suite to a waiting elevator not far away, making note of the slight stares of those around me as I pass. I must admit, I probably do look a little awkward. I doubt many twenty-year-olds in ill-fitting leather trench coats pass through the halls of such a prestigious hotel every day.

Moving quickly through the main lobby of the hotel, I find a yellow cab parked at the front curb, awaiting my arrival. I had called for it slightly after Watari had left, making sure it would be here if I stuck closely to my time table.

"You Mars?" The cabby, a short, stocky fellow of Indo-Asian descent, inquires in his almost stereotypical accent. Observing him briefly, I can tell he is a man of impatience, not one to enjoy being kept waiting and is a more than likely one to give in to road rage when trapped in one of the frequent downtown traffic jams. By the way he is tapping his foot on the wet pavement and holding his hands on his hips, it's obvious he thinks I took too long to arrive, even though according to my own plans I am right on schedule.

"I am," I say bluntly, composing myself as I climb onto the backseat. "Village Cinemas, please."

As the cab pulls away from the hotel, I remove the ticket from my pocket once more, grasp it between my thumb and forefinger and let my eyes wander across it as I hold it in front of my face. My first exposure to _Star Wars_ was in 1987. I was eight at the time. I hadn't even been at Wammy's House a year yet but, still, I was having trouble adjusting to the new environment or drawing close to anyone. To try to remedy this, Watari took me by the hand one day and led me down the street to a local London cinema. The sky was dark and rainy much like it was today. Inside, he bought me a small bag of strawberry licorice and took me to an afternoon matinee where he had managed to have the manager of the theater play an old reel of _Return of the Jedi _for us. I remember, seeing that film, larger than life on the screen before my young eyes… it honestly amazed me and it allowed Watari and I to bond for the first time in our young relationship. Of course, I had figured out what was going to happen about halfway through the movie, but still, it was an amazing experience. Thus, as soon as we returned to the Orphanage, I had Watari get prints of the first two movies for us all and quickly devoured them with youthful enthusiasm. Of course they adhered to the basic Jungian archetypes, but it was an imaginative retelling of the 'hero's journey' and greatly impressed my young mind and helped me to understand how the agents of justice must always triumph over the forces of darkness. In fact, had I seen them in order, I'm quite sure the revelation in _Empire_ would have surprised even me, which is quite a feat indeed. Since that day back in 1987, I will admit I haven't set foot in another movie theater, but as soon as I heard the news that Lucas was releasing his long-awaited Prequel trilogy, I knew I had to experience it properly, on the big screen. However, knowing how important the secrecy of my identity is and how protective he can be, I had deduced that more than likely Watari would not allow me to go see the movie, thus I had to opt for this more covert option.

The cab arrives at Village Cinemas in a surprisingly short amount of time considering the density of lunch time traffic in the city and the effects of the inhospitably rainy weather. As we come to a stop, the cabby turns around in his seat, promptly asking for his fee before I can even begin to reach to open the door. Digging into the opposite jacket pocket from where I kept my ticket, I pull out a small, blue credit card emblazoned with the name of Allessandro Mars. Watari had given me this card upon my eighteenth birthday when he finally let me operate with a greater level of independence and we began to travel abroad more frequently. It was to be used primarily for emergencies, but I figure this was a worthy enough endeavor to warrant its use. After he quickly swipes the card, has me sign the slip that is printed out shortly after and returns it to me, the cabby finally allows me to leave his vehicle before pulling away to await his next fare. At last, I have arrived at my destination.

Stepping out of the cab, I proceed, accidentally mind you, to step into a deep puddle that had gathered there beneath the curb, my new shoes becoming soaked all the way through and stained with city grime that had accumulated there. My toes proceed to curl in disgust and my brow furrows, but I will not be deterred. Opening the Watari's black umbrella to shield myself from the downpour, I slowly, almost achingly, lift my feet out of the water and onto the curb itself. The crowd in front of the theater is already quite congested from people still trying to purchase tickets to later showings of the _Phantom Menace_ today, but I merely grin to myself as I cut my way through the crowd, hunched over with hands in my pockets, and enter the theater. The smell of artificial butter is thick in the air and the conversations of those gathered about mask the sound of popping corn. The carpeting has been recently replaced, though still showing signs of recent spills and water stains, and the lighting from the faux-gold chandelier overhead is dim. Glancing up at the theater listing, I see that they are already seating for the noon showing so I make my way to the ticket collector. Dressed in a maroon waistcoat overtop a white dress shirt and black bowtie, he appears to be a young man roughly my age, his brown hair greasy and hanging down on his forehead and his face still collecting groups of pimples and other swollen pustules from a recent bout with puberty that he has obviously lost. The look on his face is one of apathy and I can tell that he would rather be anywhere else right now but here. More than likely he is being forced to work here against his will, perhaps by parents feeling that he needs to learn a little responsibility. I had him my ticket and he lackadaisically rips off the stub and hands it back to me, muttering that I should proceed to theater six. I, however, have a quick stop to make.

Following the crowds, I join the lines at the concession stand and, trying to maintain a level of patience, wait for nearly eight minutes and thirteen seconds before I finally arrive at the counter. I chew unthinkingly on my thumb as I peruse the wide selection of sweet delights, glancing up only momentarily to match the gaze of the surprisingly chipper teenage girl standing behind the counter.

"Can I interest you in our number one combo: a medium popcorn and large fountain soda for only 6.99?"

I wrinkle my nose at the thought of the salty popcorn and, while still chewing on my thumb, begin to point out the items I list to her. "I would like two packs of skittles, one pack of M&M's, one box of cookie dough bites, one bag of strawberry licorice, one box of snow caps, one box of malted milk balls, one bag of Raisinets and a large Mountain Dew, please."

The girl seems almost awestruck for a moment at my order, much to my bewilderment, but she quickly closes her mouth and scurries about collecting all that I had asked for. Once gathered and placed on the smeared glass counter, she begins to add up my purchase in haste before reading off the inordinate price for it all. Wrinkling my nose at the expense, I hand her the credit card and begin to wonder if I should have just tried to sneak more food into the theater in my jacket. Once my account is settled, I take the rotund cup in hand and begin packing my pockets with candy before proceeding to theater six.

Even above the chatter of the crowd, the first thing I hear upon entering the theater is the sound of the soles of my now nearly dry shoes tearing free from the disgustingly sticky floor beneath me. Perhaps now the mystery of why I haven't stepped foot into a movie theater in the last fourteen years has been solved. In my recollections, I remember the cinema Watari had taken me to in London as such a wonderful, awe-inspiring facility, almost like something out of a fairy tale. Now, though, as I stand here with my shoes quickly adhering to the floor, I'm wondering if perhaps my memories are tainted by the simple fact of how much joy that trip brought to me. In fact, if it wasn't for the movie I am about to see, I would probably go back to the hotel, shamble back to my bedroom and close the door behind me not to be disturbed. Surveying the crowd, I find a free aisle seat about halfway up the theater and proceed to trudge up the stairs with my haul. Upon reaching it, I promptly wrest my poor, bound toes free from their fabric prison and kick the shoes onto the theater floor as I perch myself in a crouch on the seat and proceed to open each of my bags and boxes of treats and places them in a half circle around me in my lap and on the arms of the chair.

Idly, I watch the slideshow of ads for local businesses and pointless bits of movie trivia flash on the screen while waiting impatiently for my movie to begin. I've waited too long for this movie and I wish they would just get on with it. The sound of approaching footsteps, however, draws my attention to my left.

"Pardon me, sir," the theater attendant whispers, shining his flashlight in my face and causing me to squint, unable to see his face, "but this theater has a strict 'No shoes, No shirt, No service' policy. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to sit in your seat and put your shoes back on immediately."

A sigh escapes my lips. If I wanted to, I could just buy this entire theater, fire him, force everyone in the theater to leave, have it scrubbed from top to bottom and watch this movie by myself, in peace. Instead, however, I opt for a more simple, albeit still troublesome, solution. Reaching into one of my bag of Skittles, I pluck out about ten of the yellow candies, quickly grab the attendants hand and then place them within his grasp, closing his fingers around them. "Here you go. I'll give you some of my Skittles if you go about your business and leave me alone."

Lowering his flashlight from my face, I can see that the attendant is looking most displeased despite pocketing the Skittles and proceeds to place a hand on my shoulder. Before he can say anything, though, a black-sleeved arm reaches from beside me and place a small wad of money in the breast pocket of his waist coat.

"I do believe that should take care of things, sir," a familiar, wizened voice says behind me as the theater lights darken and the pre-show trailers begin to play. My eyes widen to find Watari sitting beside me, a large, red-and-white-striped bucket of popcorn in his lap.

"Watari?" I mutter, dumb-founded. My plan…it had been perfect! There's no way he should have known! "How…did you find me? Were you following me?"

"No no," my old caretaker said with a warm smile, looking up at the screen as the Lucasfilm logo blazed to life on the screen, morphing from green to gold. "After knowing someone as well as I know you for all of these years, it would be absolutely careless of me if I couldn't figure out when you were up to something. Besides, I know this is important to you, so I wanted to be with you when you saw it."

The opening prologue of the film began to scroll up the screen to its traditional, John Williams-composed fanfare as I plucked a handful of M&M's from the bag and dropped them, one by one, into my mouth, the corner of it curling into a smile.


End file.
